


Atychiphobia

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: (but mostly the movie and I apologize for that), Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, Child Abuse, Humanstuck, POV Alternating, and thus is set up to seem like it’s boy centric, i guess I mean it’s a hunger games au, it WONT BE, original intended audience was wattpad users, takes elements from both the book and movie
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-01
Updated: 2018-08-03
Packaged: 2019-06-20 02:33:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15524157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Atychiphobia - fear of failure. If you fail at selling, you starve. If you fail at being obedient, you’re hit. If you fail at following the rules, you’re beaten, if you fail at staying in line, you’re pushed, if you fail at having good luck, you’re chosen, and if you’ve failed enough to be chosen as a tribute, you’re doomed.If you fail in the Games, you die. You’d hoped that you wouldn’t have to face that.





	1. ==> Dave: Pretend

You're good at pretending. Rose tells you that she can see past your facade, but she's pretending then, too. Your whole family is good at pretending, come to think of it. You're all good at pretending that everything's fine, but it's not.

You can feel the tension in the air, even on your weekly hunt. It fucking sucks. Roxy's a little weirder than usual, Rose is a little snappier than usual, Dirk is a little tenser than usual.

You try to ignore it and focus on the breeze as it brushes your hair, your eyes, your skin. You focus on the small pit pat of your feet as you move across the dirt, never getting louder. You focus on the shadows that dance on the ground as the trees move with the wind.

Then you focus on the deer.

You can see it from here, graceful even as it moves its head down to eat. Alright, you really gotta focus now. Can't fuck up the hunt. You can just see Roxy as she moves into position, and fuck she's quick. You can also see Dirk, bending his knees to crouch behind a bush near you. You can't see Rose, though.

You move forward, tiptoeing over sticks and around undergrowth. You're downwind of the deer, so it shouldn't detect you. You and Rose had to track this thing for fucking ages, so you'll be damned if it detects you now.

You have a hand on your spear, and the other over the sheath of your dagger. Your bare feet cross over the forest floor and you spot a nice little bush to duck behind. You pride yourself on how quiet you are as you move. Deer doesn't suspect a thing. Sucker.

You get into position, and look over at Dirk. He's focused on the deer, brows furrowed in concentration. All you can do is watch as he takes a deep breath, studying the situation. Then, finally, he looks at you, giving you that sweet eye contact. He raises a rough, cut-covered arm, and signals to you. 

You feel yourself tense up immediately. You got those sweet, sweet Striderly instincts. Your hands tighten around your spear. You just gotta wait a little longer and-

A sound cuts through the air. The whistle of something moving; the deer starts to keen. Roxy hit her mark, but then again, doesn't she always?

No time to dwell on that. You spring forward, over the bush and over to the deer. The deer makes a distressed noise, but you can't bring yourself to feel sorry for it. You wince as your feet step on some stray rocks, but you sure as fuck don't let that stop you as you bound forwards.

The deer starts to scramble away, kicking up dirt and leaves. It has a slight limp, and you see Roxy's arrow fall from it's shoulder, blood dripping onto the ground. 

The wind whips at your face as you jab the spear forward. You land a hit - fucking great - and the deer cries out. You feel a grin prick at the edge of your lips as the deer stumbles, but the spear slips out of your hands.

You don't realise your mistake until it's too late. The deer doesn't fall. It keeps running. Faster than you. Persistent little fuck.

You huff as you try to catch up with it, but you really fucked up. It keeps going. You can hear Dirk running behind you, too, but even with his long legs, he won't catch up to it. He was in position to get the deer if it went the other way, dammit. Roxy probably can't shoot it either, not now. Fuck.

You curse under your breath as you force yourself to keep running, even though it's hopeless. Your breaths turn into huffs, and you step on some sticks that you think have made your feet start bleeding.

You glance back at Dirk, who's managed to nearly catch up with you (damn his fucking long legs), but he gestures for you to stop. So, you start to, shortening your steps until...until...

You see movement out of the corner of your eye. Unsure of whether it's just your eyes playing tricks on you or not, you turn to look, and-

"Holy shit," you hear yourself say, "is that Rose?"

You don't even know why you asked. That is clearly Rose, and she's on the back of the deer, daggers dug into it's pelt. That's a risky fucking move, but shit, it's badass. You glance at Dirk, but he's already running forward to catch up to the slowing deer, so you start too, ignoring the stinging in your feet.

Rose is managing to stay on the deer without being bucked off, but just barely. Roxy definitely won't be able to get a shot in now; even though she's a good shot, she could possibly hit Rose. Your family can't afford that.

Just when you're close to the deer, Rose gets bucked off. You feel your stomach lurch, and, on instinct, you turn. Your hand reaches out, though you can't fucking reach her. It's stupid to think that you can. 

Time moves slow for a moment, but you see her land safely (as safely as you can be when bucked off a deer, anyway). The relief you get nearly makes you stumble, but you know better than that. You're insulting yourself by saying this.

"Dave!" Dirk shouts, "the deer!"

"Fuck," you hadn't noticed that it was still running. Motherfucker.

It has a small limp it's step, but it's still fast. You should've gone back and gotten your spear from where you dropped it. Whatever, you ignore your mistakes for now and keep running.

You can't lose this deer.

The wind whips your face and the landscape blurs. Your legs are sore and your feet are definitely bleeding now, and you don't need to look down to know that you're probably leaving red footsteps as you run. That's so fucking uncool.

Your eyes, dry from being open, start to water and your vision blurs. Through the blur, though you can see that the deer's getting away. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

A weird noise (not a whine, not a whine) escapes your throat, but you can't get yourself to run faster. In fact, you're only getting slower. Bro is going to be so pissed.

When you start to hear yelling, you think that running to much has given you...auditory hallucinations or some shit. It's not Dirk, it's not Rose, it's not Roxy. 

When the deer stumbles and falls, you stop running. You rub your eyes, and the absolute gift that is unblurred vision shows that there's an arrow in the deers head. 

Then you realise who it is.

"You 'right there?" Says Jake English, hands holding his bow perfectly.

You walk up to the deer, wheezing. Your chest hurts like a bitch, and it takes a while to talk because you can feel fluid in your throat.

"Yeah," you pant, doubling over and putting your hands on your knees, "fuck, yeah, I'm fine. I'm a Strider. Shit, didn't realise that we'd chased this thing near District 11."

"To be quite fair, my crew is also further than usual! I was very insistent on getting food today," Jake says, "and we're good at hunting big things! Did you see that shot? That was me! It was quite great if I do say so myself."

You wave your hand dismissively, "yeah yeah whatever man. But this deer's ours."

Jake blinks, "but I shot it down! You clearly wouldn't have gotten it if I hadn't done that. So it's mine. It's only fair!"

You take a moment to cough, clearing your throat of fluid. Then, among your wheezes, you protest, because what the fuck, “dude, no. We’re friends yeah? You know how hard our fam’s doin’ because of the Reaping shit, yeah? We need this dude, like how the Capitol needs electricity dude- no, don’t shake your head dude,” you raise your head, “you wanna go, bro? I’ll fucking fight for this dude.”

Jake’s head tilts to the side, then opens his mouth. Probably to argue. Fucker.

He’s interrupted by a nearby rustling, and a pat pat pat of what’s definitely boots against dirt. You both swing your heads towards the noise, and a familiar face emerges from the underbrush.

“John,” Jake says.

John looks almost as tired as you feel right now, and when his eyes see the deer, they light up like the fuckin’ Capitol on Christmas. When he sees you, he seems to go brighter than that.

“Dave! What’s up?” He grins. It’s a tired, almost sad grin. Maybe the dude sees what’s going on here? Hell if you know.

You wave in response, and then put both hands on your head to help with your breathing. There’s not much time for more words, because you can hear people coming up behind you. Definitely your siblings.

When Jake sees who’s behind you, his eyes light up as John’s did with you. You turn around (shakily, you can admit) to see Dirk helping Rose walk over. Neither look particularly fazed, but hey, that’s Dirk and Rose for you.

Dirk looks from you to Jake, hazel eyes narrowing ever-so-slightly. “What’s going on?”

“He-“ you point a finger accusingly at Jake, “-says the deer’s his.”

“I shot it down, Dirk!” Jake’s voice raises in volume.

You don’t say much more, but you think your annoyed hand movements are probably enough. 

“Why not just go halves?” Rose asks, “it will take some time, but I could cut the deer.”

“What?” How could she betray you? She knows Bro will be annoyed with this, too. “But dude, we chased this fucking deer-“

“Honestly, Dave,” Rose snaps, “their family is bigger than ours, so they need it as much - if not more - than we do. If we stand around here arguing about it, then we won’t be back in time for the Reaping.”

That makes you quiet. Not much arguing about that. She does have a point. You’re not gonna say that you’re sorry or you’re wrong or anything, though. 

Rose looks smug (probably thinks she won the argument like a loser), and looks at Jake. “I’m sure you can’t argue with that logic either.” Jake opens his mouth, but Rose answers for him. “No? Excellent. Don’t talk. I’ll get this deer cut, then.”

Dirk let’s Rose go, and she hobbles over to the deer. You notice an angry red mark against her leg, and you wince. Not visibly, of course, but on the inside. That shit looks like it’s gonna bruise later.

You sit down. Might as well rest while Rose does her thing. Jake and John stand awkwardly next to the carcass, Jake more awkwardly. You’d chuckle about it if your chest weren’t still burning.

“Jake, hold the deer so I can get this done faster,” Rose says.

“Actually, I’d prefer-“ Jake starts.

“I wasn’t asking that you do it.” Rose looks up at him, gaze unblinking and firm. Wow. “Come here.”

Jake pauses like an idiot for a moment, but then ducks down and holds the deer as requested.

You go from sitting to laying down, the light from the merciless sun dancing across your face. If you ignore the squelching of the carcass, it’s quiet. Almost nice. 

You let yourself close your eyes. You can feel the wetness of blood on your feet still, but eh. Whatever. You’ll deal with it later.

The dirt’s kinda soft if you ignore the bark and rocks. You shuffle around a bit, and though you’re gonna have to clean your clothes later, you try not to think about it.

Silence (almost). Blankness. You almost fall asleep.

You think you would have if not for the sudden crunching against dirt, quick and short, then a yell.

“Guuuuyyyyyyssssssssssss, you left me!” You don’t have to open your eyes to know that it’s Roxy.

The crunching stops for a moment. “Hey, Jakey! What’s shakin’?” There’s no answer - rude - and then her voice loses its excitement. “What’s going on?”

Then you open your eyes. You sit up, meet her confused gaze, then pat the ground next to you. You might as well explain this shit while you’re waiting.

—————————————————————————————————————

Dirk hauls half of the deer through the hole in the fence, being careful not to let it drag along the ground. Rose crawls through next, nearly bumping the ‘warning - electricity’ sign.

It’s not electric anymore.

You crawl through next, your light brown hair falling into your eyes and the dirt scraping your knees.

“How much time do we got to kill?” You ask.

“An hour, maybe more,” Rose says, head tilted towards the sun. 

“Right then-” Roxy gently shoves you forward as she crawls through the hole last. “- who’s taking the deer?”

“I will,” Dirk says. 

You stand up and wipe the dirt from your pants. They’re gonna be stained brown for a while, but it’s whatever.

“Don’t get shot by a Peacemaker on the way,” You joke.

“I won’t,” Dirk says, “you know they buy from us too.”

You aren’t sure if Dirk noticed you were joking or not, but you decide not to point it out. 

Dirk starts hauling the deer away, into your District. Hopefully you get good money for that shit. 

You hum for a moment, then start to walk away. Might as well spend the time before the ceremony doing something.

Before you can get far, a hand closes around your wrist. You feel your skin jolt and you suppress a shudder, even though you know who it must be.

“Oh, no you don’t, mister,” Roxy scowls, “we’re getting you cleaned up before the Reaping. We told Bro we’d go report back and clean up if we had to, and we def have to. You’re filthy! Like a lil’ mouse. What do you think, Rose?”

You do your best not to glare at Roxy, and await Rose’s reaction.

“You clearly want me to agree,” Rose says, “but I feel more inclined to disagree.”

She limps towards you and taps a finger to your nose.

“He looks more like a rat to me,” she says.

You bat at her face, but she pulls away quickly, a smug smile on her face. Roxy’s grip is weirdly strong, and you can’t pursue Rose. Whatever. You hope the look that you give her is a good enough message.

Roxy starts to pull away, saying something to Rose about ‘don’t be mean to your brother Rosie it’s not his fault he’s a lil’ mouse’.

She pulls you along, leading you more into your District. There’s a really uncomfortable silence in the air. You can’t blame ‘em. Even the people with no children or the people who hate kids just can’t help but give pity.

Pity to the children, pity to the parents, pity all around. It’s a pity party.

The streets feel grey. The ground is grey, the houses are grey, the sky is grey. Your feet sting, but you’re not tracking blood everywhere now. You’re kinda glad for that. Trackin’ blood onto perfectly good pavement would not be a good look for you.

A couple of kids lay on the side of the streets, begging for money. Roxy and Rose ignore them, so you do too. You have nothing to give.

You pass by the square, and notice that there’s a lotta Peacemakers there now, donning their shiny white uniform and their shiny white guns. Must be time soon.

You pause for a second to study them. Roxy pauses too (maybe to let you look?) but then with a small tug you’re on your way again. She’s still got a strong grip on your wrist.

Your house is not a pretty sight, but then again, neither is anything else, really. It’s a bland looking house, compared to the others, but it’s home. Roxy pulls you up the steps to the door and knocks.

You find yourself swaying softly on your heels, like a drunk bird. Okay, maybe not that badly. The wood creaks softly beneath you, and it’s nice. Fills the awkward silence that’s grown.

There’s a few more moments of silence, and then the door opens. It opens so quickly that you almost jump.

“We’re hoooome,” Roxy says, voice obviously strained in an attempt to sound optimistic.

“You’re late,” grumbles Bro.

He stands taller than all of you (and a Roxy’s pretty tall, so that’s saying a lot). His leg is permanently twisted, and his face holds no emotion. You suppress a shudder.

More silence follows. Roxy holds a strained smile, but Rose also holds no emotion. She stares ahead. Not at Bro, but past him. Damn. That’s risky.

Bro’s head tilts to the side, but not in a cute ‘oh-like-a-dog’ way. Like a...like a ‘I’m-expecting-something’ way. Gives off a whole different vibe.

“Well?” He asks, “what’d you get?”

Nobody speaks, so you take it upon yourself to.

“Deer,” your voice is quieter than you intended, “Dirk’s takin’ it to be sold. It’s a mighty big one, Bro, you should’ve seen it-“

“Quit your yappin’,” Bro snaps, a hand sneaking forward to grab your shoulder, “get in and get ready. You look dirty as fuck.”

Then, much to your relief (which hits you hard and fast) he lets go of your shoulder, he turns and he limps away. You catch him saying that ‘the only smart thing they’ve done today was actually come back ‘n fuckin’ clean themselves.’

The three of you don’t move. 

Then Rose does, walking inside. You can see her trying to hide the limp. You’re not really sure how Bro didn’t notice, but hell, you’re sure as fuck not complaining.

Roxy pulls you inside, moving slowly. She’s trying to make her footsteps seem quieter. She finally lets go of your wrist, and you move past her.

Unlike Roxy, you have mastered the art of walking silently. You follow Rose (who’s the master of sneaking around) into the living room. Mom’s passed out on the couch, but that’s no surprise.

You have no idea where Bro went. 

You follow Rose into the bathroom. It’s cold, quiet, dark, and there’s a lonely tub in the corner. 

“I’ll grab your clothes real quick,” Roxy says from behind you.

You hear her walking away, and wonder how Bro hasn’t punished her for that already. But you have no complaints.

Rose gets the water running. It’s kinda dirty but it’ll get the job done. You sit down, back against the wall, while you wait for the tub to fill. There’s a bit of soap next to the tub, so you fiddle with that with that while you wait.

The soap slips on your hands, almost dancing. Ha, that’s a poetic way to describe it.

You lay one hand flat and place the soap on it, then use your other hand to hit it off.

“Goodbye, soap,” you say dramatically, deepening your voice.

“You’re going to break it,” Rose warns.

“Bite me, Lalonde.” You drop the soap again, to spite her.

When Roxy returns with your clothes, the tub is full. You all take turns in cleaning yourselves (you stopped going in the tub together when you were four, because that’s weird).

The water stings your feet, but fuck, it definitely feels better. 

The clothes you put on are clean, and you also put on the one pair of shoes you have that isn’t badly torn or ripped.

You were the first one to finish cleaning, so you decide to wait in the living room. It’s small as fuck, and the couches aren’t the best, but you’re used to it.

Mom’s occupying one of the couches, so you take the other. You swing your legs over the couch arm, making sure not to put your legs through the multiple holes in it.

All’s silent apart from Mom’s gentle snoring and the quiet splashes of water. You wish you could say you enjoy it. 

Your eyes dart around, searching for something. The silence is uncomfortable, and you feel your skin crawling. You have no idea where Bro is, and that’s what’s making you feel unsafe.

You start to chew your nails absentmindedly, tasting the dirt that had been trapped under your nails (gross). The cracking of you biting your nails joins the other small noises, but it doesn’t comfort you.

Suddenly, there’s a loud step, and you jolt outright. You’re not scared, just startled. Yeah. Your eyes are wide, and your head jerks in the direction of the noise. 

There’s another loud step, and then Bro is in front of your couch. He’s a fucking ninja, and he also knows how to walk quietly, so he did that on purpose. To fuck with you, probably.

But you know what that means, too. 

He points at you, then at the door. He doesn’t need words to get his point across.

“Dude, no,” you say.

Bro’s stare becomes more firm (or is that just you?) and he raises a hand. You flinch on instinct, and before he can hit you, you (don’t stutter, don’t stutter) explain yourself.

“I don’t want bruises for the Reaping,” you blurt out quickly.

If not for Bro’s ninja reflexes, he probably would’ve hit you. But thank fuck, he pauses just before his hand reaches you. You’re wearing short sleeves and shorts, so you think (hope) this excuse will work. Maybe? 

His hand returns to his side. You realise that one of your hands is digging into the couch, and you realise that your other hand is digging into your arm.

“Today’s the only exception. Double training tomorrow,” he says.

You nod stiffly. You guess that’s understandable.

Then he leaves. It takes you a while to stop digging your fingers into your arms, but you stop yourself eventually. You forget how long it takes.

You wait.

You wait for Roxy and Rose to clean themselves. Bro doesn’t give you any trouble while you wait (which is more relieving than you’ll admit).

By the time they’re both done, you don’t get much time to comment on how long they both took before a sound splits the air outside. A long, droning horn.

You notice Roxy biting her lip, and then she says, “guess we better go.”

None of you move. Not for a moment. Then Rose turns and leads the way out.

——————————————

Even in the crowd of people, it’s quiet. Ugh.

Everything’s grey. Everyone’s wearing grey. Kids faces look grey.

You stand in line, watching as the bright white Peacemakers shove people into their places. They’re the only thing that’s not grey, but shit, that’s not a good thing. 

The line moves forward, so you do too, passively waddling forward like a fat duck. Rose is in front of you, and Roxy’s behind you, but you can’t see Dirk anywhere. That fucker better be here.

You space out for a couple of minutes, but your spacing out is rudely interrupted when you get to the front of the line.

“Hand,” the Peacemaker instructs.

You eyes go down to the sheet of paper in front of him, decorated with dots of blood from all the kids. Jeez.

“Hand,” the Peacemaker snaps.

“Alright, alright!” You put out your hand, “jeez, you gotta learn some patience, my dude.”

The Peacemaker ignore you and jabs a needle into your arm. You nearly wince, but manage to restrain yourself as your blood drips onto the paper.

You’re barely done before another Peacemaker shoves you away, towards a crowd of people your age. Unfamiliar faces crowd your vision.

“Shit,” you mutter. You don’t know where Rose and Roxy went.

People move around you, lightly knocking you. You don’t move. You think you can hear some kids crying, but you don’t blame them. 

You feel stiff as people finally stop moving, and their mutters grow quieter. You have to stand on your toes to look over their heads and at the large stage that’s been placed there.

A woman - obviously from the Capitol - stands there, wearing a smile so...so cheesy that you think it’s fake. She wears a black dress decorated with green swirls, and has short hair (wig?) dyed green at the ends. Damn, girl must really love her green.

Blegh, you can barely stay looking at that fucking smile, so you avert your eyes to the screen to her left. That’s not much of a better sight, but you’d rather look at a blank screen than some Capitol lady’s fake-ass smile.

The murmuring seems to stop and for a split second the only thing that reaches your ears is silence.

Then the Capitol anthem blares out over the crowd.

The screen flickers on, but you don’t pay attention that much. After the third year of being in the crowd for these things, the speech gets tedious. If you wanted to you think you could recite this whole thing word-for-word, and you know what’s going to come onto the screen before it does.

Blah blah blah war, blah blah blah ruin, blah blah blah saviours, blah blah blah price, blah blah blah boy and girl, blah blah blah death, blah blah blah Capitol.

You stop standing on your toes halfway through.

When it’s done, the woman in green’s (Rosey? Rae? Rosa) voice rings out, annoyingly pleasant, like she isn’t about to send some kids into a fucking deathmatch.

“Welcome, District 12-“ you hear her say, “-to the Reaping for the 74th annual Hunger Games. I’m sure you’re all very excited.”

Nobody is excited. Someone next to you shuffles nervously and brushes against your side. You see them trembling from out the corner of your eye.

After a pause, Rosa continues, “now, I’m sure you all know how this goes. The names are in these bowls next to me, and the ones I pull out will be the ones chosen for the Games. Now, it would be polite to do the ladies first,” she pauses (dramatically? Wow), “don’t you think?”

You stand on your toes again to see if you can watch, but someone behind you pushes you down.

“Rude,” you mutter.

You’re greeted with an uncomfortable silence. You can hear people moving, shuffling, whimpering. Someone sobs quietly.

Even though you’re a Strider, and you always keep your cool, you feel (nervousness? Anxiety? Dread?) swell in your chest. You try to remind yourself that you’ll be fine. Some poor kid that put their name in too many times will probably be chosen. Not you.

Just as you were starting to calm down, Rosa speaks.

“Rose Lalonde.”

You feel like someone’s just punched you in the gut with a rabid alligator. 

You think you swear out loud, because a few people turn to look at you. Your vision sways, and you think you must be dreaming. Yeah. You’re dreaming. There’s no fucking way your sister was just put into a death match.

But you stand on your toes (though you nearly fall over), and there she is. You can see her. That’s her hair, her skin, her body. That can’t be someone else. 

You try not to vomit over the poor kids in front of you. All the girls look relieved, and that makes you feel more sick. Fuck, you can’t blame them for that, but...that’s your sister. 

You stumble, and someone stops you from falling on your face.

“Watch it,” someone snaps.

You try to think of a good reply, but all you can say is, “that’s my sister.”

There’s no response, and when you get your shit together, Rosa’s digging in to the bowl full of the boy’s names. But you don’t care.

Rose doesn’t look a bit scared. Her face doesn’t show any emotion, actually. You ignore the pounding of your blood in your ears and try to meet her eyes, but she gazes forward, at nothing.

Your feet start to hurt and you stop standing on your toes, though the aching that’s starting to grow in your chest hurts more than the aching in your feet.

Your eyes start to blur, and your vision is still spinning. If there’s a good time to wake up, it’s now.

It only becomes a better time to wake up when you hear what Rosa’s saying.

“...-ere is he? Dave Strider? Am I reading the paper wrong? Dave Strider is the male chosen for this year’s Hunger Games. Hello?”

Forget the rabid alligator. Somebody’s just stabbed you with ten thousand sharks with mutated teeth.

When you force yourself to move forward, people make a path for you. You can barely hear anything over the pounding in your ears, your head, your chest. Everything’s just a grey blur in your vision.

You start to think. If you ran now, would they catch you? If you fought back, would they kill you?

It doesn’t matter, because when your fear infested brain is done thinking about it you’re at the stage. Shit.

“Come along now, dear,” Rosa holds out a hand, “faster, now.”

When you don’t take her hand, she grabs your wrist (not hard like Bro, but gently, you note) and pulls you closer to her. Next to Rose.

This is where they’d normally ask for volunteers. Whatever small amount of hope you held before is gone now. This isn’t a dream. In Districts like these, nobody fucking volunteers. You’re a lost cause.

“Now, put your hands together for this year’s-“

“Stop!” Someone yells, voice rough.

Rosa pauses. You glance at Rose, but her eyes are somewhere else. Somewhere in the crowd.

You follow her gaze. There’s a scuffle, a tangle of limbs and shouts. You don’t know what’s going on, and your mouth hangs open, in a kind of dumb ‘what the fuck’ way.

One Peacemaker gets shoved aside, and fuck. Your mind can’t comprehend shit. But you think that’s Dirk. 

Your eyes blur and unblur, and fuck, that is Dirk, in all his glory. Spiky hair pulled back in a ponytail, long legs trembling. Fuck.

“I volunteer!” Dirk says, “I volunteer. As tribute. I fuck- I fucking volunteer as tribute!”

Fuck.


	2. => Dirk: Say your farewells

Everything goes silent. You struggle against a Peacemaker’s grip, and they let you go. Maybe because they’re confused. But there’s nothing to be confused about. You volunteered as tribute, because you should save at least one of your siblings. 

You stagger over to the stage, noting Rosa’s surprised look.

“Well? Let him go. I volunteered,” your words come out fast.

“Well- I, I...what’s your name?” Rosa asks. 

“Dirk,” you say, walking onto the stage, “Strider.”

“Sibling?” 

“Yes.”

You hear a murmur behind you. One that runs through the crowd. 

Rosa signals to someone. You don’t have to look to know that she signalled to Peacekeepers. You hear their heavy footsteps as they walk closer.

For a moment you think they’re going to grab you, but when you turn, they’re grabbing Dave. He looks rooted to the spot, and his gaze is glazed over, but when they touch him, a button seems to flip, and he struggles.

“Dirk,” he says, “Dirk!”

Rosa nudges you into place as they pull Dave away, his voice starts to fill with something. 

Desperation?

“Dirk!” He struggles, but he’s not particularly big, so a Peacemaker throws him over their shoulder. “Dirk! Rose! Fuck, wait, Rose, wait!”

Neither of you say anything to him, and you act like it doesn’t hurt to see him pulled away like that. Better sad than dead. And boy, you’d rather cut your head off than see one of your siblings dead when you could’ve helped. Even if it’s going to end up with you dead. 

Dave shouts, but Rosa speaks over him. 

“Well, then. That’s certainly a turn of events! You’re our first District 12 volunteer in…” She looks at a nearby Peacemaker. “Twenty? Thirty years? Oh, come on, dears, one of you must know. No? Okay.”

She sighs, as if the worst thing that’s happened today is not knowing when the last District 12 volunteer was. 

She turns to fully face the crowd, and encourages you to look out at them, so you do.

“Now, District 12, time to welcome your female and male tributes!”

There’s silence. The adrenaline from volunteering is starting to die down, and you’re left listening to your own ragged breaths.

You don’t know what anyone’s thinking. You see relieved faces, disapproving faces, and faces that show...something else. Something you can’t put a finger on.

Rosa awkwardly clears her throat. This doesn’t make the crowd do anything.

Then someone in the crowd raises a hand. You don’t know why, or what it means, or-

“Three fingers,” Rose murmurs next to you. 

“What?” You ask, but when you glance at her, she seems lost in thought.

Other people start to raise their hands, too, and then something clicks. You know what this means. If you recall correctly, you think it’s a sign of respect. But you’ve never seen anyone actually do it before.

Rosa shuffles awkwardly, and then someone grabs you.

“Alright, time to go,” a Peacemaker says.

You know that next you’re going to be taken to the Justice building, and then you’re going to say goodbye. You know this. Yet you feel the need to struggle as you’re dragged away.

Maybe it’s the fear setting in, who the fuck knows. 

The Peacemaker overpowers you easily, so you must look like an idiot, flailing your arms around while you’re being taken away. Rose doesn’t look much better. She’s also struggling.

It’s not long until you’re both thrown in the Justice building in a room by yourself, and the door slams behind you.

Once again, you’re left with silence.

One minute passes, maybe two. You don’t move. You feel like you can’t move. The walls feel too close, and your breathing sounds too loud.

Three minutes pass, maybe four. It’s at the four minute mark that you realise your hands are shaking.

Five minutes pass, maybe six. The door opens.

It’s Rose, and someone you don’t recognise. They’re shoved in and the door slams, again.

You and Rose make direct eye contact. You feel like you should say something, but you can’t form any words.

“They found out that we were siblings,” Rose explains, voice quiet, “and figured that it would be easier to put us both in here.”

It takes you another moment to make words. “Right. And who’s this?” You point at the stranger.

He has a kind of ‘you-feel-like-you-should-know-him-but-you-don’t’ vibe coming off of him. The first thing you notice are the tacky glasses he wears. The glasses are decorated red and blue, but seriously, who does that?

He’s obviously rich (or his family is), because his clothes are much better in quality compared to yours. Much, much better. He’s thrown on some kind of leather jacket on over his clothes, too, which is even *more* of an indicator that he’s rich. Like some kind of gold cherry on top, he’s also wearing bright, metal pins on the jacket.

“Sollux Captor,” the boy says, and you immediately become aware that he has a lisp, “not with a ‘th’ sound.”

“I still don’t know who you are,” you say.

He sighs, “my dad’s Simon Captor.”

The name rings a serious bell, but you can’t place it. He must notice or something.

“They call him ‘the Psiionic’,” Sollux makes air quotes around the title, “seriously, do you not watch the Games or something?”

Rose answers before you can, “he dislikes watching the Games. He would only recognize your father by the title.”

“Great,” Sollux mutters, “ugh. I’m glad he’s not here. Talk like that’s gonna inflate his ego.”

You glance at Rose, then back at Sollux, “why are you here, then?”

“I’ve been waiting with the male tributes for he last three years, bucko. I don’t know why thirteen year old me bothered, but I figured I might as well make it tradition.”

“Wonderful,” the sarcasm’s practically dripping from Rose’s voice.

“I at least want to warn you about dear-fucking-Dad,” Sollux says, “seeing as you’re going to meet the fuck.”

You feel yourself raise an eyebrow. What about him?

Rose seems to read your mind. “What about him?”

“Well he’s gonna be drunk, he’ll be rude as fuck, and he’ll be no help to you,” Sollux hisses.

A moment passes.

“Is that it?” Rose asks.

“That’s it.”

“That was a lot of help, thank you.” Rose doesn’t look pleased. “That piece of information is definitely going to help us in the death match that we just unwillingly signed up for.”

“Technically, you did willingly sign up for it,” Sollux points out.

“What would you know, mister ‘I’m-rich-so-I-only-have-to-put-my-name-in-once-because-my-family-won’t-starve’.”

“I could put my name in more than once if I wanted to.”

“But do you?”

Sollux hesitates. It’s not a long hesitation, but it’s enough.

“Point.”

An uncomfortable silence falls across the room as Rose and Sollux get locked into what seems to be some kind of staring competition; a battle of wills. Whoever looks away first is the loser, you guess.

You don’t understand why eye contact would decide who the victor of an argument is, but hey, you didn’t make the rules, so you can only follow them.

At some point, Sollux looks away. Rose looks only smug.

You wonder when your family’s going to get here. It feels like some part of you just can’t accept that you’re probably (definitely) going to die, but fuck.

You find yourself staring at Sollux’s pins to get your mind off of it. Unfortunately, he notices.

“They’re pins,” he says.

“I know what they are,” you’re not dumb.

Rose looks between you two and rests her chin on her hands.

There’s an awkward silence as you and Sollux stare at eachother.

“Catch.”

At the word you instinctively pull forward, reaching out for whatever’s thrown. Bro’s done stuff like this to you before, where he throws objects at you to test your reflexes, so you’re suddenly tense and hoping that it wasn’t something sharp.

Something small lands in your hands, and it doesn’t hurt to catch, much to your surprise.

“Nice,” Sollux says, “thought you were going to drop it for a sec.”

Rose is at your side immediately, “what is it?”

“Pin,” Sollux says, “he can keep it if he wants. He looked interested in it, and that one messed up my even number of pins.”

Sure enough, the small thing that you caught is a pin, in all its metal glory. It’s painted a golden colour, and is a nice round shape. Though, there’s an outline of a frog on the inside. 

“A frog?” You say.

“What?”

“I just thought pins of other creatures would be more popular,” you say, “like birds.”

“Where Dad got them from, they were super poi-“

The door slams open.

Something crashes into you, and strong arms wrap around your body, followed by a cry.

“Diiiiirk!” Oh. It’s Roxy. “Holy shit, Dirky, you- you-.”

The sudden hug made you tense up, but hearing her voice is comforting as fuck, even though you can hear it shaking. And to think you’d almost forgotten about the Games.

Roxy pulls away from the hug and her hands cup your cheeks. You’re glad she’s doing most of the touchy touchy shit; you don’t think you’d be able to. 

The only downside is that you can see that she’s been crying. Her eyes are puffy and red, and her cheeks are red too.

“You know what? Rose, c’mere, you’re getting in on this too,” she reaches over and pulls Rose close to you, and consequently, starts a group hug.

Neither Rose or you can reciprocate, but luckily, you don’t think she minds. Her hugs are large, super touchy, and kind of hurt, but this time you don’t mind the last part.

“You gotta win,” Roxy whispers.

“Roxy-“ Rose starts.

“Shhhh.” She pulls away and puts a finger to Rose’s lips. “You gotta. I want at least one of my sibs comin’ home. I don’t wanna lose both of you.”

“We can’t promise anything,” Rose says, “I hope you realise that.”

“I know,” Roxy sniffles, “ugh, fuck, sorry, I’m gonna start bawling like a fucking idiot. Just- just-“

“We can do our best,” you offer.

Roxy hugs you again. It’s a kind of desperate, grabbing-at-clothes hug.

“...Where’s Dave?” You ask after a moment.

“Helping Mom get over here. She’s drunk as fuck.” Upon hearing Roxy’s answer, you think you see Rose’s hands curl into fists.

“Speaking of which.”

The three of you stiffen. The voice is all-too-familiar, rough and quiet.

“Roxy. Help Dave with that.”

Roxy shuffled away from you an Rose to look at him. He looks even taller in the doorway. 

“Can I-“ Roxy starts.

“Ain’t a question.”

You see Sollux, now leaning on the wall, raise an eyebrow.

Roxy looks at you and Rose, then back at *him*. Quickly, she moves, but not towards the door as he requested. Rather, she moves over to Rose, and presses her forehead to Rose’s. Initially, Rose flinches away, but Roxy starts murmuring, and cups Rose’s cheeks.

The murmuring is not audible enough for you to hear, but you figure it must be some kind of goodbye.

Almost as quickly as it started, Roxy’s murmuring ends, and she moves over to you. You know what’s coming, so you don’t flinch as she presses her forehead to yours.

“I love you so much don’t you fuckin’ forget that I- I’m sorry I can’t be there for you to help y’know,” she whispers quickly, “I shoulda volunteered for Rose I know but I’m- I’m glad you did what you did for Dave. Not that I’m glad *you’re* a tribute now, just...just,” she sighs, “I lo-“

“Roxy.”

The way he says her name is enough to make you want to punch him. It’s enough to make you think that you’re home for a second. But you’re almost certain that if you do something, the Peacemakers will step in.

Roxy moves away. Your chest aches as she leaves, and you almost reach for her hand. Almost.

As soon as she’s gone, he moves forward. Rose moves the tiniest bit closer to you, but it’s not like she can do anything.

Bro slaps you.

It’s a quick strike, fast and stinging. For a moment, dark dots dance in your vision, and your cheek burns as soon as it’s done. It feels like there’s bugs wriggling under the skin where he hit you, and fuck, that’s definitely going to leave a mark.

You struggle to stay upright (is that Rose who’s put a hand to your side to help you balance?), and you think you hear Sollux mutter, “wow.”

You don’t turn your head back around to face him, nor do you say anything.

“Look at me,” he demands, voice quiet. Always quiet.

When you don’t, he grabs you by the chin and forces your head around to face him. He doesn’t look angry, or sad, or anything.

“Why’d you do that,” he asks, “huh?”

You don’t answer. The room goes quiet, save for someone’s foot tapping on the floor (Sollux’s?). You focus on that.

“I would’ve preferred that we lose Dave over you,” Bro says, “he ain’t got your skills. He’s useless compared t’ you.”

“Dave’s far from useless,” Rose huffs. He doesn’t even glance at her.

You notice that the tapping is a nice, solid beat. Maybe two taps per second.

“You’re an idiot,” Bro concludes, “fuck, I ain’t gonna be surprised if we starve, now.”

You tap your fingers to your leg in time with the foot taps.

Nobody speaks for a while. You know that Rose wants to, and you know that Bro wants *you* to, but you don’t.

Bro raises his hands, and you resist the urge to flinch, because he’s surely going to hit you again.

But then his arms wrap around you, not forceful or crushing, but with a weird abnormal gentleness. Your skin feels like it’s on fire where his hands brush over your clothes, like it’s preparing for the inevitable hit.

But it doesn’t come. Why hasn’t it come? He’s supposed to do *something*, and then hiss at you for being so careless. 

But he does nothing.

“I love you,” he whispers. It’s so close to you ear that you have to suppress a shudder.

You don’t know how to react. Normally with these mind games, he gives you *some* idea of what to do, but he’s given you nothing here.

“I love you too,” you say, and hope it’s enough. 

He does nothing. You guess it was enough. You don’t reciprocate the hug, but he does nothing to fix that, either.

Guilt pricks you as you’re unable to figure out whether he meant it or not, but there’s a surprising *lack* of guilt when you can’t figure out if you meant it, either.

When he finally pulls away (which is, admittedly, relieving), he meets your gaze again.

“Y’ better come back,” Bro says.

You nod.

“You,” he finally regards Rose, “look after him.”

“You say that as if there was room for any doubt.” Rose’s voice sounds the slightest bit like a snarl.

“You better-“ Bro starts.

The door flings open. 

You’d think that you’d be used to it by now, but the noise makes you flinch as it slams against the wall. The foot tapping stops.

“Alright, time to go,” a Peacemaker says.

Bro moves aside, leaving completely and utterly vulnerable to them.

“Wait,” Rose says, “we still need to say goodbye to Dave.”

“We’re on a schedule, sweetheart,” they grab her first, and the sight alone fills you with adrenaline.

But there’s nowhere to run, and you can’t fight.

They grab you next, and you start to struggle.

“Surely your dumbass schedule can wait five minutes,” You emphasise the last part, but no juice.

Their grips feel stronger than Bro’s and colder than ice, and they don’t budge when you start to flip out.

When you twist and turn you can see that even Rose can’t wriggle out of their grip.

“We need to say goodbye!” Your voice raises in volume, more than you meant for it to.

But they still don’t budge. They feel and move like machines, heartless and uncaring. Your feet drag across the floor as the pull you.

You think you see Sollux wave, but fuck, you’re too busy struggling to wave back. 

Your vision becomes filled with flailing limbs, mostly your own, but occasionally there’s a flash of white from a Peacekeeper’s arm.

You need to say goodbye to him. You need to tell him that this was your choice, because he’s probably going to do dumb shit like blame himself. 

But nothing works against the Peacekeepers, with their fucking stupid uniforms, and their too-big guns, and-

You don’t notice that your feet are on solid ground until Rose nudges you.

You rub your eyes.

You breathe.

You don’t cry, because it takes more than that to make you cry. 

Rose doesn’t speak, and neither do you. The room that you’re in is part of a train, you know that, but it’s feels so unnatural. It’s made at a high quality (this is from the Capitol, of course it’s high quality), and you run a hand against the wall.

“I’m going to assume you’ve snapped out of your spaced-out state,” Rose says, quietly.

“I didn’t realised that I’d spaced out,” You trace a pattern on the walls.

“Yes, that’s what usually happens when people space out.” When you look at her, she’s rolling her eyes. “Are you going to stop inspecting the walls and come into our carriage with me?”

There’s an abnormal softness to her voice. A softness and a shakiness. You can’t describe it well, but it’s not a tone of voice you’ve heard from her before.

She grabs your wrist and begins to lead you in, limping slightly. It’s an unfamiliar gesture. You and Rose aren’t big on the touchy-touchy shit. Her grip isn’t as hard as Bro’s, and it doesn’t make your skin crawl.

“Did you drop the pin?” Rose asks.

“What?” You’d forgotten about it. “...No, I can feel it in my hand.”

“What are you going to do with it?”

“It’s a pin,” you state the obvious.

“Sollux clearly had ulterior motives in giving you the pin, probably some form of patronise,” Rose scoffs.

“Well, I’m going to wear it now, because unlike you, I don’t see everything ss some weird passive aggressive bullshit,” you say, putting the pin on your shirt.

Rose raised an eyebrow and looks like she’s going to respond, but all conversation is lost as you enter the carriage that you’re going to stay in.

You’d comment on how fucking extra it looks, but all words have been lost at the sight.

Food’s practically thrown around. There’s food on tables, on seats, on window sills, placed in expensive-looking baskets. 

The furniture looks shiny, but still looks pretty fucking comfortable. You’ve never seen a room that’s looked so expensive. Even the cutlery manages to look like it cost what it would take for you to sell five deer.

Rose lets go of your wrist to push up your chin.

“Holy shit,” you finally say, “this is so…”

“Shiny? Food-covered? Very obviously made with the money of people who can splurge it?” Rose offers.

“It looks like there’s supposed to be a party in here.”

Rose picks up a nearby fruit and inspects it. You follow her and pick up an orange coloured fruit, rolling it around on your hands.

“Think this is for us?” You throw the fruit up and catch it.

“Who else would it be for?”

“I mean, you never know, with sneaky Capitol fucks.”

“You’re being paranoid,” Rose dismisses.

In hindsight, you probably are, but better safe than sorry. 

Rose meets your eyes and then bites into the red fruit that she grabbed.

She keeps eye contact as she chews. For a moment, you think you see her face light up, but the moment is gone so fast that you conclude your brain is just fucking with you.

Well, two can play at that game, anyway. You also bite straight into your fruit, and-

Holy shit, the sweetness almost feels like it’s burning your tongue. You aren’t used to stuff like this, but it’s. It’s good. The inside is, anyway.

As you eat the fruit, you notice that Rose is matching you, bite for bite. You don’t know if this is some weird passive-aggressive gesture or not.

Then the door opens, and you both look towards it, mid-bite.

Rosa’s standing there, and when she sees the both of you, she makes a concerned face.

“Ah, dear, you know you’re supposed to take the skin off before you eat that, right?” She says, looking at you.

You pause, and play it off as if you aren’t making a goddamn fool out of yourself. “Yes. The skin has a nice texture.”

To your surprise, Rosa seems to buy that. Rose even makes a quiet, amused sound, muffled by her fruit.

You feel the corners of your lips prick up ever so slightly at the sight of Rosa’s face.

She claps her hands together, “now, dears, this has been built to be the most comfortable for the tributes, but if you need anything, give me a yell. Dig in to any of the food that you find. Your assigned mentor, teacher, whatever word you dears want to use, should be here soon. I’m going to go attend to a few things, but I’ll be back shortly.”

And then she’s gone, without even pausing to let either of you say anything.

As the door closes, you say, “she sure says ‘dear’ a lot, doesn’t she?”

“I bet she has kids,” Rose guesses.

“Bet she has grandkids” you one-up her.

“Looks too young,” Rose hums disapprovingly.

“Everyone in the Capitol looks younger than they are,” you point out.

Rose raises an eyebrow, “I still don’t think she has grandkids.”

“I bet you the pin,” you tap it, “that she has grandkids.”

“Confident, are we? I’ll bite,” Rose says.

Fantastic. She’s right, you are confident that Rosa has grandkids.

You take a seat (holy shit, the seats are comfortable as fuck), and eat the rest of your fruit. You make sure to tear the skin off, though. The fruit tastes like Heaven, and though it feels like it’s burning your tongue, you keep eating.

It’s weird, talking to Rose like there’s nothing wrong. There’s a part of your brain that’s still clinging onto hope, desperately. It’s the part of your brain that won’t let the inevitable reality of ‘you’re going to die’ click.

Rose sit across from you, still matching you bite-for-bite. You ignore that. 

Funny, Rosa said you’d be seeing your ‘mentor’ soon, yet he hasn’t shown up. You give him the benefit of a doubt and think that he’s probably just late (though Sollux’s warnings repeat in the back of your mind).

Suddenly, the train lurches, and a piece of half-chewed fruit gets stuck in your throat. Rose moves over to you and pats your back as you cough.

As soon as your done, your attention is captured by the colours outside the window. Different shades of green speed past (or rather, you speed past it). Huh. It’s almost mesmerising.

Sure, it’s the same view as when you’re running, but in the train, you can watch it without having to worry about tripping over something or running into a tree. You can feel the vibrations of the train moving and you can see the tiny little shakes that the objects strewn around make because of it.

You don’t know how many minutes you stay like that; feeling the vibrations and watching the window. You know it must be a few, because Rose entertains herself by inspecting the carriage more closely and has fully looked at it by the time you become self-aware that you’ve just been staring out the window.

“There’s bread,” Rose reports, “white bread. And every single spread you can think of. I don’t even recognise what all of them are.”

“I guess if you’re throwing a bunch of kids into a death match, you gotta treat ‘em right,” you shrug, eyes still on the window.

There’s silence after that.

Rose returns to where she had been sitting, and the two of you don’t speak.

Not until the door opens. 

The sound is what tears your gaze away from the window, and suddenly you’re alert. Ready.

Someone stumbles in, muttering. His hair is shoulder-length and messy, the only thing keeping his hair out of his face being a bright yellow headband. This guy really isn’t the peak of fashion. 

All his clothes are a bright yellow, and you share a glance with Rose as the guy nearly falls over. His clothes are messy too, and there’s a bottle in his hand.

When it becomes apparent that the bottle is for alcohol, Rose grows visibly disgusted. You grimace slightly.

“Goddamn fuckin’...” His words become audible. “‘Course they godda keep the goddamn alcohol in ‘ere.”

Your only thoughts on this can be summed up with a simple: Wow.

The man finally notices you and Rose. His eyes are a bright yellow, and when he opens his mouth to sneer, you can see that his canines are unnaturally sharp.

“You ain’t even old enough t’ enjoy this shit, ain’t you?” He’s so obviously drunk that you’re uncomfortable (though you definitely don’t show it).

Rose’s eyes narrow. “You’re Simon, correct?”

The man pauses for a moment, and also narrows his eyes back. Just when you think he’s going to answer, he stumbles towards the fridge.

“Hey!” Rose’s voice raises.

Still the man doesn’t answer, and seems satisfied as he pulls a bottle out. Immediately, he starts chugging that shit like he has an hour left to live.

“What the fuck,” you say, loudly.

The man pauses when he’s halfway through drinking, and puts the bottle back in the fridge. Then, without regarding either of you, turns, and begins to walk towards the door.

Rose meets your eyes for a moment, and you think she’s thinking the same thing as you. The expressive, disgusted sentence of ‘what the fuck’. 

There’s no way this guy isn’t the guy who’s supposed to teach you shit. Sollux’s warnings echo in your mind over and over.

“You’re supposed to be giving us tips.” You’re not sure why you’re trying to reason with a dude who’s intoxicated. “You know, so we actually have a chance of surviving?”

That makes the man pause. He turns (nearly falling over as he does so). His eyes are unfocused, but it’s apparent that he’s trying to glare at you.

He laughs. It’s an unsettling, high-pitched laugh, and he shakily moves towards the table.

“Youuuuu,” he drawls, “you want tips?” He pops the ‘p’.

“That was the point of you being here,” you say, sharing another glance with Rose.

“Here’s a tip. You wanna hear it, eh? You wanna fuckin’ hear it? Here’s the tip. You’re gonna fuckin’ die.” He makes another unsettling laugh as he’s done saying it.

“Helpful,” Rose mutters.

The man’s laugh turns into a cackle. You think this is making the ‘you’re going to die’ message click.

The man tries to leave, but the door opens, and not because he opened it.

Rosa hurries in, and pauses when she sees the man.

“Simon.” Her tone is like that of a scolding mother. “Really?”

“Ehhhh.” Is all the man says.

“You’re supposed to be teaching these dears now to survive!”

“They’re gon’ dieeeee. What’s the point.”

“Simon,” Rosa huffs, “you need to act your age.”

All he does is laugh. “Eheheh. Age age age...nahhh.”

Rosa sighs and rubs her forehead, then takes Simon’s hand and puts something in it. “Take these. With water.” She emphasises ‘water’.

Simon grumbles, but he seems to start carrying out the order.

Rose doesn’t look pleased, and frankly, neither are you.

Rosa walks over to your table and sits down. Next to Rose, not next to you (thank fuck).

“Apologies about him. He’s the only one, unfortunately,” Rosa’s voice is disgustingly sweet. Hearing the voice alone would make you think that she’s faking it, but she looks only genuine.

“It’s alright,” Rose says sarcastically, “it wasn’t like we were expecting someone competent.”

Rosa looks like she doesn’t know how to answer that, and changes the subject. “How are you both feeling?”

“Wonderful.” Rose rolls her eyes.

“Peachy,” you answer dryly.

“You weren’t honestly expecting us to be exhibiting a positive emotion, were you?” Rose asks.

Rosa opens her mouth, but then shuts it again, looking uncomfortable. 

“You were.” Rose emphasizes ‘were’, sounding genuinely surprised.

You feel your eyebrows raise. How could she expect anyone to be even close to happy, in this situation? 

Rosa looks between Rose’s disapproving stare, to your blank gaze, and then slowly gets up. She looks at both of you as if you’re going to lunge if she looks away, and then quickly walks over to Simon. Her heels click against the floor as she moves.

Rose crosses her arms and leans back against the seat, gaze averted to the window. You feel like you should offer some kind of comfort, but it’ll come out awkward, so you refrain from doing so.

You lean back and your small ponytail presses against the seat and fiddle with a knife. You can hear Rosa and Simon talking, but don’t bother trying to listen.

You’re becoming increasingly aware that whatever chances you had before are completely gone now. Zero. Naught. Nonexistent. You’ve seen and heard enough to know that you’ll be wiped out by someone from Districts 1 or 2 that actually train for the Games.

Footsteps start to become louder, so that grabs your attention, and you watch as Rosa leads Simon over.

“I gave him something to help him sober up, so now he should be more cooperative. Right?” She says.

Simon mumbles something that sounds like ‘right’.

You look at Rose, and as she finds your gaze, you know that neither of you are convinced.

Rosa leads Simon over to your side of the table and makes him sit next to you. You nearly gag as the smell of alcohol hits your nose.

You shuffle over as much as possible, trying to make it look like you’re trying to give Simon more space, but really you just want to get the fuck away from that smell. 

“Okay.” Simon drags out the word. “Alright, uhh...actual tips now.”

Rose leans forward a bit, clearly interested, but you see her nose wrinkle at the smell.

Seemingly satisfied, Rosa begins to walk away.

“Aight, so…” Simon’s words slur, and he watches as Rosa walks away. He pauses, but as soon as she’s at the fridge, he talks. “Don’t try ‘n take shit from the Cornucopia. Get water. Kill your allies before they kill you. Don’t die.”

That’s it? You wait for a moment, thinking that there’s more, but there’s nothing. Simon stands up.

“Where are you going?” Rose asks.

“I gave y’ tips. ‘M done.” Simon says plainly. He starts to walk towards the door.

You glance at Rose, then glance at Simon. You stand up and try to follow him.

“I don’t think that’s how this works,” you say.

Simon whirls around, and suddenly his hands are on your shoulders. Even though the guy’s a drunk fuck, it makes your heartbeat speed up.

He leads you over to the table and pushes on your shoulders so that you sit down next to Rose.

“‘M leavin’,” Simon says firmly. 

“You’re supposed to help us,” Rose points out.

“Don’t care,” Simon grumbles, once again heading to the door.

Rosa calls out his name, but he ignores us.

“The chance of our survival being more likely rests in your hands,” Rose’s voice raises in volume.

Simon ignores that.

“You have the chance to help some kids survive a death match, and you pass that up?” Rose’s tone turns accusatory.

He ignores that, too.

“Sollux said you’d be useless. I see that was an understatement. If you’re like this with us, then I’m going to bet you neglect him at home, too. Or, at the very least, you’re drunk around him too much,” Rose hisses.

He freezes. 

He hisses, “you don’t know shit about me ‘n my kid.”

“Struck a nerve, did I?” Rose looks smug, “so I’m right.”

Simon narrows his eyes at her. “You ain’t right. You ain’t shit!”

“But you have to help us!” Aggression seeps into Rose’s voice, “you have to stay.”

For a moment, you think Rose has convinced him. That, or he’s trying to process what Rose just said. 

But then he keeps moving.

You see Rose move out of the corner of your eye, but before you realise what she’s doing, she’s picked up a knife, and throws it.

She’s not trying to hit Simon. You know that. You can see where she’s tried to aim; the wall next to the door, so that it flies past his head. The knife is probably further to the side than she’d wanted to be, but Simon freezes.

The knife was thrown hard enough that it stays in the wall, and he looks at it.

“Good throw,” you mumble.

“No throwing knives in the train!” Rosa exclaims.

Nobody speaks for a minute. You and Rose stare at Simon, and Simon stares at the knife.

You’re tense, your head’s starting to hurt, and you don’t want to die. You bet Rose feels the same. You’ve got no time for Simon’s bullshit. 

When Simon moves, it’s fast. Not something you’d expect out of someone who’d just been stumbling across the room. Despite that, adrenaline makes you move.

Within two seconds, Simon’s thrown the knife back.

The flash of silver catches your eye and instinct thrusts your hand forward.

Within three seconds, you realise that you’ve caught the knife. Your hand is frozen where you’ve caught it, and you realise that it’s aimed in between Rose’s hands (which are flat on the table).

You take a few deep breaths, then lower the hand that had caught the knife.

You don’t think you’ve ever seen Rose look so surprised. Her eyes are wide, and her mouth hangs open.

You gently push her chin up so her mouth closes.

“Next time, work on y’ aim,” Simon hisses.

Then he walks out, leaving you in silence.


End file.
